


Empathy for the Devil

by Rigel99



Series: Senses [6]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Empath Will Graham, Hannibal's perspective, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:23:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 16,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Wrath of the Lamb and following on from my series, "Senses". </p><p>With every end, comes a new beginning. Why should it be any different for men such as Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham? </p><p>(It's all yours, Messrs Harris & Fuller. I'm just here to satisfy my own bloodlust.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Every element in existence has its polar opposite; had it not, it would cease to exist.  

And just as the senses cannot truly be independently isolated from each other, the same in both cases can be said of myself and Will Graham. 

Before our plunge into dark waters, from the cliff where stood the place I had undertaken the fall and rise of Miriam Lass and Abigail Hobbs, I felt within what it truly meant to fall. I had given up experiencing anything so fresh and invigorating in my life. That was, of course, until I met Will. I permitted myself the luxury of feeling what it meant to lose myself and share the definition of my very being with another. I merged with his empathy and he saw my true psyche in all its raw darkness. He shone the light of his own nature into my soul and understood.

Life, it seemed, had rewarded my patience with the gift of Will Graham. I had no intention of letting that gift slip away.

Yes, the gunshot was deep but it had not penetrated any vital organs - well, immediately vital - or major blood vessels. I trusted my propensity for quick healing would not fail me now. The act of killing may come easily to someone as dedicated to the craft as I, and while I take life with relative ease, my own, by definition, is decidedly difficult to end. The essences I have consumed through the years have afforded me a vitality and vigour for which I am truly grateful. Grateful now in this moment more than ever.

The fall was brief, the impact of the treacherous water, hard. But my grip on my treacherous empath was equally so. I had, after all, no intention of letting my Phoenix endure such a bright but brief existence in this world. I could have let him die, but the threads that bind our souls are so inexorably woven together, it would surely mean my own demise. Not necessarily in the physical sense but certainly in that of the metaphysical. Such a scenario would be simply unacceptable.

I hauled our broken bodies onto the nearest rock and assessed the damage inflicted by Francis Dolarhyde. My empath was breathing. Life had not left him and my instincts told me that it would not any time soon. Together, from the life we had taken only minutes before, we had absorbed the essence of the Dragon. I had given brief consideration as to why I failed to experience even a slight tinge of regret at having robbed the world of something so beautiful, but the Dragon had been struggling for release from Dolarhyde’s betrayal. It was but the design of the Universe that it be released from Dolarhyde's hold. Will and I had welcomed the Dragon with open hearts and minds, providing a new home in our shared souls. 

The tide has already begun its retreat. I looked to the horizon. Dawn is approaching. And with it, the FBI would soon be circling the blood-soaked scene above, marking the end of one life and the beginning of two more. Of course, our bodies would never be found, which undoubtedly would lead to endless speculation. I would expect no less given the tenacious nature of Jack Crawford.

I gazed at the face of Will Graham and began to design our foreseeable future. Dominance. Control. Death. These things may come to me as easily as drawing breath, but I have no such plans for Will Graham. He will come to me yes, but he will do so of his own volition. After all he has given me, I owe him that much.

* * *

The sea had calmed. 

Her normal ruthlessness, it seemed, had offered a reprieve. She had swallowed us up with every intention of devouring us whole, but she hadn’t been prepared for the strength of her prey. I may not harbour any overwrought sentimentalities towards the human herd, aside from the quality of the meat it yields and the nourishment it provides, but the unbridled force of Nature on the other hand, was something for which I possessed unwavering reverence. 

Having stemmed the bloodflow with a sock and my shirt tied round my waist, I made the short swim to the boat that sat moored on the other side of the cliff rock face. I returned to retrieve the still unconscious body of Will. Taking a deserted line of the coast, I basked in the sun’s slow ascent, it and the moon the only witnesses to our creation, our beautiful homage to birth and death. This night would never fade from my mind. I would hang the tapestry of blood-consuming annihilation in a special room in my memory palace. I would carefully dissect each moment, each sweep of Will’s knife, each line on his face and the changing hue of his eyes as he bathed in the Dragon’s blood, erupted from the throat I had ripped from our prey. Piece by piece, I would analyse and reconstruct the glory of the night. My work in the field of psychiatry had never yielded such a beautiful opportunity, such an exquisite mind… 

I looked over the wheel and down to the deck at his prone body, carefully wrapped in the blankets I kept on board. Granted, I never considered they would be employed for this purpose, but preparation for all eventualities was one of my many strong suits. 

As I studied his almost serene expression, his face now washed clean of the blood that had slicked his skin hours earlier, I paused in my musings to study my motives. After the night we had both shared, could I delineate between the personal and the professional? Will Graham had begun blurring those boundaries some time ago. I could always effectively judge and define the moments we traversed as colleagues and those which we occupied as friends. But on the Night of the Dragon? Would this shared experience make differentiation impossible? I must admit to a rising interest in such a possibility. I had thought I had discovered and defined all there was to know of myself. I was comforted by that knowledge and the control it afforded me. It seemed Will Graham’s propensity for standing beside the Devil and defying the deep blue sea had revealed new potential.

But first things first, as I set my mind on the priorities at hand. Our physical traumas required immediate medical attention. I would find us temporary accommodation and tend to us both. 


	2. Chapter 2

Leaning against the doorframe to the tiny kitchenette of the cabin, I silently watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest from across the room. His breathing had eventually evened out and become steadily calmer over the last 12 hours and I knew he would shortly wake. I wished to remain a respectful distance. The reality of our survival when he had tried so willingly to sacrifice both our lives would undoubtedly come as a shock. 

He heaved a sharp gasp as his eyes fluttered open. 

His reaction would guide me best on how to handle this most delicate of situations. After all, Will Graham had taken more than one life last night. While the first one may have awoken desires he had long since repressed, the second life lost, that of Will Graham, FBI Profiler of killers, will have undoubtedly left a gaping chasm in his mind that would require careful repopulation with anchoring elements of the old, and other elements with which I hoped to lend my assistance. Not to coerce, but to bring to the surface that which I knew already slumbered within his conflicted mind.

I was reasonably impressed with the sense of calm detachment he exuded as he assessed the situation. Several heartbeats passed.

He had lost his glasses so squinted in my direction as he raised his head ever so slightly from the pillow.

He groaned as he lowered his head again before speaking.

“You’re not dead.”

“So it would appear. Though not from the lack of trying on your part.”

I held my position as he raised his hand to his face as though checking it was real. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“Our fates it would appear, Will, were not for you to determine. Intertwined as they are. We have previously agreed that God enjoys killing. But perhaps he derives more pleasure watching two of his avenging angels perform the act on his behalf.”

Will exhaled a sardonic laugh. “You think God spared us for killing Dolarhyde?” His voice held the pitch of incredulity he occasionally reserved for our exchanges. Some of the old Will Graham remained intact. Good, I thought, there is the anchor. I must not let him be consumed by the darkness of his first truly unconflicted kill. I must help him understand, embrace and control it. 

I remained silent.

He ran his hands across his face and down his bare torso. In another situation, I could appreciate how any other human observer may have thought of the move as sensual. He winced at me as he struggled to sit up. I made no move to assist him. 

“You patched me up.”

“I considered it the least I could do. It would have been rude to let you bleed to death.”

“You’ll forgive my surprise, given the number of times in the past you’ve tried to cut me open… and given that I recently tried to kill two avenging angels with one fall…”

I moved to the small table in the centre of the room and pulled out the chair to take a seat.

“Eventually, Will, even I must surrender to the inevitable and accept that you were meant for greater things than becoming the centrepiece adorning the table of one of my dinner parties.”

We studied each other for a long moment. At one time, I could read Will Graham with relative ease. Now however, I was faced with a new beast. The first thing I observed with regard to the newness of this experience was, he was holding my gaze. His eyes did not divert erratically as once they would have during conversation held for any length of time. Did he no longer fear me? How would this bravery translate into action? I vaguely wondered if he would try to run, or perhaps attempt to kill me again…

He stood up shakily. “I was never destined for your table, Doctor. You made it clear that my mind was far more delectable than this sinewy frame it calls home.”

Not just yet, it would seem.

“Bathroom?” He looked around before correcting himself. “Or hole in the floor…”

I stood and gestured with my hand to the only other door in the small space. He limped cautiously past me, our shoulders inches apart from each other.

He paused by my side, looking straight ahead. “What happens now, Doctor? I don’t suppose you’d consider surrendering and letting me take you to Jack Crawford?”

I turned to him and tilted my head with a small quirk on my lips. “As it happens, I share similar hopes for you, Will. At least, the surrendering part. Isn’t it comforting how aligned are our thoughts much of the time?”

He gave a short, derisive laugh at that. No doubt at what he perceived to be the absurdity of our mutual situation. “Comforting isn’t the first word that comes to mind, Doctor Lecter.”

He entered the other room and shut the door. I took my seat again. Will Graham had danced with the Dragon in the pale moonlight. Now, he would dance with me in the cold light of day…


	3. Chapter 3

It is early morning the following day. I am resting on the porch. I do not hear him approach so I must have been asleep. Unusual for me, given the uncertainty of our current circumstances. Though the pain has subsided to a dull ache, the internal healing process is taking its toll on my body no doubt.

What room are you in right now?" He asks, as he makes to grip his side before sitting on the steps that lead to the front door.

How he knew I was in my mind palace I do not know. Have I become so readable? Perhaps only to him.

He could see the enquiry in my expression. 

“The look on your face. It takes on a certain quality when you retreat there. I noticed it when I visited you at the BSHCI. It was like seeing you sitting at your desk in your study again, or lost in the preparation of some culinary masterpiece. Sometimes, I'd watch you on CC monitor in Alana’s office. Observing you before our face-to-face helped steel me before being in your physical presence. It took me a while to figure out where you were."

An acceptable answer. I close my eyes again and retreat just a little.

“As it happens Will, I am in my study. Care to join me? Please. Come. Tell me what you see..."

I heard the slow exhale and felt him close his eyes. "You are reading. There's music playing softly in the background."

"An obvious enough conclusion to draw. Tell me, Will. Give me specifics. What am I reading? And the music?"

"You have departed from your typical indulges. The book? Persuasion by Jane Austen. I hear Mendelssohn." 

I suppressed the smile as I opened my eyes to look at him through the half light of the approaching dawn.

"And you Will? Where do you go?"

"I used to go fishing. The water was clear, the sounds soothing, the sun warm..."

"And now?" I suspected what had changed in the previous 48 hours but I wanted him to submit to the knowledge, share it with me willingly.

"Now? I'm standing in a river of blood, the sun feels like fire licking my skin and the sounds are drowned out by the pulsing of two hearts."

"Two hearts?"

"Two," he replied. I do not press the subject. This is progress enough.

"I can't go back. Even if I could overpower you."

"No, you cannot. Unless the hospitality of the keepers of those deemed the criminally insane is truly irresistible to you."

"Not so much, no. Though I admit surrender as a concept in itself holds appeal."

“Surrender is indeed an alluring prospect, having given into it myself. You know, were you to ask it of me and it was truly meant, you would not have to overpower me. You already have done so and I would go willingly."

Ah. So I can still surprise you, my blood-soaked Phoenix.

"I doubt you have forgotten I have already once given up my freedom for you. In that regard, nothing has changed. You are in my blood and I in yours.”

I rose from the chair and went to join him on the steps. He shuffled across slightly. Whether to make room or create distance I don’t know. Perhaps a little of both in his current state of mind.

"Are you familiar with the Apex Predator, Will?"

"Yes. Though I don't think in the natural environment two such predators can successfully coexist."

"This is true," I replied. "There would be a challenge and one would kill the other. As is the natural order of things."

"So why didn't you let me die, Doctor?"

Already, he could see where my train of thought was taking us. He continues to satisfy my appetite for him. That satiety would sustain me for some time to come.

"There is nothing natural about the human condition, Will. In lower vertebrates certainly, the challenge would be made and fulfilled. Unlike our lower animal counterparts, we possess the unique qualities of reason and rationale."

"Garret Jacob Hobbs? Tobias Budge?"

"You do us both a disservice by speaking of them in the same vein. Serial killers such as they, are a far cry from the true beauty of the Apex Predator."

I train amber eyes on his. Again, he does not flinch. The willing acceptance of my gaze is all the invitation I need. “I have a proposition for you, Will."

“I’m listening, Doctor.”

"I believe a symbiosis is possible.” Will had the good grace to remain silent. He understood the nature of my suggestion.

“Before you answer. Please. Dedicate whatever time you deem necessary and consider completely the potential of my proposal."

The sun was rising, as was I. "We should leave soon. Arrangements will have been made."

"Travelling in broad daylight? Isn't that an unnecessary risk?"

"There are many aspects to being an Apex Predator one must learn to embrace, Will. A lion does not hide during the day. He stands for all to see in plain sight. Where he can easily identify his most vulnerable prey. He has a pride around him who has his best interests at heart. Protecting those interests, means the pride is kept intact."

“So does that make you King of the Jungle?,” he asked as he rose to face me.

“Not King, Will, no,” I replied. “Kings have an illusionary sense of power and can be easily deposed.”

I watched his impassive face as he absorbed my words. Of course, I would be a King’s own Fool were I to think Will Graham’s transformation would be as simple as the turn of a page to reveal a delicious plot twist in a much-appreciated novel. I was all too aware that he was employing his own newly-discovered powers of persuasion to convince me that he was embracing the path to his new future with grace and ease. I, however, know Will Graham - the old and the new will each be struggling to make their own voice be heard. I simply had to make my own voice the facilitator that would unite the two.

* * *

 

I asked him to shave before we left the cabin. He did so silently and without protestation. Whereas before he could have passed for a nephew, in the absence of facial hair, he now could easily pass for one’s - of my maturity at least - son. Could I be considered a father now? Responsible for this new life that stood before me? I had, voluntarily and with no hesitation, stepped onto this path with Will from the day we had first met, and while we both had strayed along the way, somehow we had always found our way back to each other. One could argue that such is what a good parent does. Allows some degree of freedom and trust that they hope has been imprinted by them on their young, safe and sure in the knowledge that the offspring will gravitate towards the place of their origins should the need arise.

A comfortable silent descends for this next phase of our journey. I know not to press him, confidently allowing him the space he needs to sift through the various experiences that have brought us here to this point in time, analysing each in empathetic detail. I do not have to say anything as yet. I would recognise the opportunity when it presented itself. I know, when he comes to me, it will be of his own volition. This is as it must be for our relationship to know the stability it needs to flourish from now to betrayal. For indeed, I do not fool myself into thinking a lifetime’s devotion in any shape or form from Will Graham. A true embracing of the Nature of Men in all their forms - both known and unrealised - has assuredly been my stronghold. That is something for which I can express gratitude towards those whom robbed me and the world of my beautiful Mischa. I doubt I would have come to treasure life quite so much had it not been for that chapter in my life, the pages of which they graced.

I felt somewhat at peace that it was not required of me to take any lives en route. It would have tainted the pleasantness of the trip. It was safe to assume that Jack Crawford was on our trail, ergo, to leave any bloodied beacons to guide him would be rather careless and foolhardy. This is why “normal” criminals get caught (not that I consider myself a member of that bracket of felonious society.) They panic, they grow desperate and shortly thereafter, in textbook fashion, they suffocate beneath the avalanche of mistakes that rains down upon them as a result of their carelessness. A meticulous nature does not come readily to a petty criminal who steals for greed nor to one who kills for pleasure. Such earthly desires being beneath me, I was quietly confident the trail - or the little of it there was for Jack Crawford and his minions to follow - would go cold quickly. The realist within me however, understood and accepted that Jack Crawford would never believe me dead lest I was presented gift-wrapped at the front entrance of FBI Headquarters. A wise fool indeed, our Agent Crawford.

Questions must be burning within Will, but not sufficiently enough to consume him it would seem. It had been over an hour since we boarded the train that would take us to a place of temporary sanctuary. He had been staring out the window of our compartment since we settled ourselves and our luggage, luggage for the sake of appearance more than useful content, therein.

When he finally broke our extended silence, it was not with what I expected. But then, why should the counterpoint to my own existence fail to surprise me? It was part of his intensely compelling charm, though a thirst for understanding complex minds and an unnerving serenity in the face of the dramatic were equally as pleasing to my sensibilities. 

His gaze remained steadily on the countryside sliding past us in a blur of green, blue and grey.

“I spoke to Bedelia before we orchestrated your escape.” It was a statement. I waited.

“She indicated that you loved me.”

I raised my eyes from the newspaper then and looked at him. Defiant eyes bored into mine.

“Do you, Doctor? Do you… love me?”


	4. Chapter 4

Love.

Love has destroyed men and brought entire nations to their knees. It has led to the most beautiful deeds of sacrifice and the most wounding acts of betrayal. It is a laboursome and dangerous emotion with which I would never have considered it possible to be afflicted. Indeed, while I had occasionally experimented with the sexual act itself, that physical expression of love to which Humanity is prone, I found myself rather detached from it, lacking the immeasurable passion that consumed me as I absorbed completely the life of another. Alana, Bedelia. Mere means to an end. That end being Will Graham. He the Omega to my Alpha. Empath to all others needs but his own. Blind to the deep, unabiding beauty pulsing through his body and mind that stood bright and clear in the light of my undivided attentions to him.

“Of course I love you, Will. Have you not been paying attention these last six years?”

“Framing me for murder and attempting to can-open my skull could hardly be considered acts of affection, Doctor.”

“On the contrary, Will,” I said patiently, folding my paper and uncrossing my legs to slide across the seat and bring myself to the window and directly opposite him. “I would not do anything to you that at one time had not been inflicted upon my own person, or would permit to happen in the future - under controlled conditions of course. I was well aware of my attraction to you from our earliest encounters. I needed to test myself and to test you. Your endurance is testament to how perfect we are for each other.”

It was then the anger spilled over. Anger at me, at himself, at a world that spared our lives in the wake of such beautiful destruction. He lunged at me. While he caught me off guard with the move and winded me briefly with a blow to my trachea, I quickly recovered and overpowered him. We were still as fragile as each other, our injuries still raw and at the surface, but physics was on my side being the slighter larger and stronger-bodied of the two of us.

I felt momentarily put out at the interruption when I heard the door slide open and a voice say, “Tickets, pl—?” It was undoubtedly a rare sight for a conductor, two grown men on a compartment floor of his train, one pinned in a firm hold beneath the other.

“Can you come back shortly?,” Will said. “We’re sort of in the middle of something here…”

“I can see that gentlemen bu— but— I’m afraid I must see your tickets.”

“Of course,” I replied, not taking my eyes off Will. “There is no need to be rude, James. The man is merely doing his job.”

Will’s breathing remained steady as I dipped my hand into his pocket to retrieve his ticket, having noticed him stow it there as we boarded the train. After removing my own from my jeans pocket, I handed both to the collector.

I heard two clicks and he handed them back.

“Are you sure there’s nothing—“

Will cut him off before I had the opportunity to do so.

“No, we’re fine, thank you. Just a…. lover’s tiff…”

“Ahem! Very well, gentlemen. I’ll leave you to it…,” he said as he closed the compartment door. I had not looked up during the entire encounter. Incredibly rude of me perhaps, though I quickly forgave myself given that my attentions were rather preoccupied with other things.

“From the look on his face, I thought he was a heartbeat away from joining in…”

I took the opportunity presented to ease the tension between us by responding to his banter. “But what a way to go, no?,” I countered with a small smirk.

He turned his head to the side to let out a brief guffaw before relaxing beneath my hold.

I relinquished my rather firm grip from his wrist and stood, smoothing a hand through ruffled hair and adjusting my sweater before offering my hand which he grudgingly accepted as he rose to face me.

“Let me be clear, Will. I have no desire to enter into a physical relationship with you.”

Oh? You wound me, Doctor.” I accepted his sarcastic tone of voice as a coping mechanism.

“It is possible to harbour deep feelings for another without the need for sex.”

“I’m well aware of that, Doctor,” he replied, as he slumped with an almost defeated pose into his seat by the window.

I took my seat opposite. “I believe there are much more fulfilling purposes into which we can channel that emotion.”

“I don’t doubt you do, Doctor Lecter. And I’m fairly certain I want no part of your purpose.”

I picked up my paper again to resume its perusal. “All in good time, Will. All in good time.”

So the fight had been exorcised. It was but a matter of time before my Phoenix took flight. He would run, I would allow him and we would see if he would return.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite being afforded several opportunities to relieve himself of my company en route to our temporary sanctuary, Will remained. I could only conclude that he wished to be certain of my whereabouts before taking his next course of action. It fascinated me that he was still determinedly fooling himself into thinking the cord that bound us together could be cut. I accepted however, that we needed to go through these motions on his terms. I caught myself at that train of thought. Allowing his feelings to guide my course of action was proving much simpler than I had imagined it would be. The more time we spent in the each other’s orbits, the more I found myself coming to the slow realisation and appreciation of why he fought against our mutual attraction. It would be all too easy to lose oneself in the irrepressible pull of the other’s mind. I began to wonder if it was wise to continue on this path and considered the risks it posed. For the first time since I took the lives of those who robbed me of my own, I felt inner conflict. 

Fortunately, I had prepared for such eventualities. I allowed myself a smile as I imagined what Chiyoh had prepared for us. Chiyoh - my Eternal. She who had initially become a surrogate for my beautiful Mischa had now become so much more. I had set her free many times, and she had always found her way back to me, whenever I needed her most. My own avenging angel. Deadly and magnificent in all her guises.

The thought of my deadly Chiyoh brought my mind back to my more present fledgling protégé. While I am not unfamiliar with the concept of inner conflict, having had to deal with its resolution on countless occasions while roaming around the turmoiled minds of my patients, to feel it within my own was a new and altogether welcome sensation. Welcome only because of its source. I looked in the rear view mirror at my slumbering empath laid out on the back seat of the car we had recently procured. With every new experience we shared, new and unexplored avenues within me were being opened up. Another cycle of my existence was coming into effect. Surely, I would not be so fortunate as two have two awakenings in one lifetime? Whatever the Universe’s plans for Will Graham and I, we would face together - a new embodiment of what it meant to be beyond human. And it would be our design.

When we arrived at our destination, my Phoenix could fly in one of two directions; towards the mouth of a self-designed Hell where he could live the remainder of his days clawing at the backs of his demons, or into the welcoming arms of his self-appointed saviour, Hannibal Lecter. Naturally, I held hopes for the latter. Were he to chose the former course, I would be forced to let him go, though I would take some small comfort from knowing his whereabouts under the watchful eye of Jack Crawford and whatever guardian of the medical profession had now taken on the straitjacketed role as Head of the BSHCI. 


	6. Chapter 6

The first hint of dawn was making its impression on the horizon when we arrived at the house.Not unlike the situation of Will Graham’s former humble abode nestled in the wilds of Wolf Trap, it stood miles from anywhere, as remote and untouchable as its former occupant. I had purchased the property years ago - on a whim - under one of my various aliases. I had thought of it simply as a place of quiet retreat when required, for my beloved Chiyoh, as and when she ventured back to the United States. I was somewhat pleased to observe that the modest grounds looked reasonably neat and tidy, though not to my own exacting standards, nonetheless well maintained by a local handyman whose services I had secured with a monthly retainer.

Will woke of his own accord as I drew the vehicle to a slow stop. I watched, while retrieving some bags of food from the trunk, as he stepped groggily from the car. He rubbed his sore side, evidently stiff from too long sitting in an uncomfortable, unmoving position. We entered through a side entrance into a rustic kitchen. I deposited the food on one of the counters and we both discarded our coats.

Will blinked in the light and looked around. “Cosy…”

“It is suitable for our present purposes.”

“Purposes, Doctor? Plural? And what might those purposes be? Aside from evading the long arm of Jack Crawford?”

I gazed at him for a moment, yet again impressed by his quick and accurate summation of the situation. He never once faltered in his belief of me to be one step ahead of every eventuality. Here and now, he understood that said eventualities also revolved around Will Graham and my plans for him.

I smiled. “Will. Still so suspicious of my intentions towards you. By now, surely, I shouldn’t hope to expect less of you than to know your interests are in sync with my own? The two are surely becoming less mutually exclusive with each passing day.”

“On that point I suppose, we cannot disagree, Doctor. Had I empathised with the former fragile and all-too-impressionable version of myself sooner, perhaps I would have had the objectivity I needed to dodge the spiralling bullet that has slowly sprayed my life into a study in red.”

So slowly you didn’t notice that I was the bullet that had shattered you into the pieces I now so completely enjoy remoulding and putting together, I thought to myself.

I unpacked the bags and stowed their contents away in the appropriate cupboards. “There are far less interesting colours on which a mind’s palate is based. Throughout our earlier encounters, the dominant I sensed within your aura was the neutrality of green. You welcomed invisibility, and in doing so became all the more visible to those who occupied the outer spectrums. You went to great pains to reflect the light, Will. ”

“Yes, I did. Being as receptive as I was to the nakedness of others, I found light to be very unforgiving.”

I opened the fridge to lodge some dairy produce, noticing it was at a suitable temperature to cool the wine I had purchased to accompany our breakfast. “However, you welcomed the light when you first saw me for my true colours, in Hobb's family kitchen. You saw what you perceived to be my true form. Your finger was poised on the trigger. You could have brought my life to a quick, clean end. Tell me Will, you never did share why you hesitated?” Hardly a typical conversation between father and son, but it certainly made for interesting small talk between myself and my empath.

It was obvious that the only thing that had saved me - aside from the fortuitous intervention of Jack Crawford - had been the conflict within Will. But I was curious as to what exactly was the source of that conflict.

“Abigail,” came the simple answer, as he leaned his damaged body against the small counter in the centre of the kitchen. He had his back to me, but his face to the side as he spoke. “My rather rattled mind was dragged back to that moment I shot her father, and it felt as though I was reliving the event as I stood before you. I realised you had done what Garrett Jacob Hobbs couldn’t.Taken a single life that would certainly have prevented the deaths of 8 others. Though not entirely true at the time, it was true enough in my mind to… stay my trigger finger…”

From our first encounter in Jack Crawford’s office, I could feel him burrowing, albeit I realised shortly thereafter unintentionally, between the gap of my conscious and subconscious minds, creating a space for himself. But from that moment in the Hobbs homestead, we were well and truly under each other’s skin. I had employed the very same techniques in my efforts to psychologically shape him after his return to our sessions.

“So you are saying that as you were about to pull the trigger those events merged and you came to an imperative understanding of Hannibal Lecter?”

“So it would seem, yes.”

“Then I trust you will be pleased to know that in our shared experience of Francis Dolarhyde, I also came to an equally imperative understanding of Will Graham.”

He turned to face me then, across the small counter. He eyed me with mild curiosity, as though I was saying something that he thought I myself didn’t quite understand. 

“I had thought there was nothing left to discover, Doctor Lecter. Haven’t you peeled me naked and laid my horror and beauty bare in equal parts for all to see?,” he said with a sweeping motion of his arms, almost bowing towards me in supplication.

Every moment with him was a new and keenly known pleasure. “Do not underestimate yourself, Will. As far as I am concerned there is as much left to discover in you as there are visible stars in the night sky.” 

It was sooner than I’d expected to make what I hoped he wouldn’t interpret to be an indecent proposal but in the context of our exchange, it seemed like the appropriate moment. “May I suggest, before I prepare us a little something to eat, we begin to explore the greater potential of Will Graham?”

I stepped around the counter and took him gently by the elbow to guide him deeper into the bowels of the house. I felt the pulse of curiosity tremble beneath the palm of my hand as we looked at each other. He was unresisting, if looking a little wary of the contact. 

“There is someone I would like you to meet, Will.” 

 


	7. Chapter 7

As always, Chiyoh had demonstrated her understanding of me, echoed in the thoroughness of her preparations on my behalf. I opened the door and ushered Will ahead of me into the darkness. The first sound I heard beneath my feet was the sheets of plastic that had been carefully laid on the carpeted floor. I strode purposefully towards the East facing window and swept open the drapes to permit entrance to the blossoming light of the rising sun.

Will raised his hand to his face to block out the sudden intrusion. He looked around as he took in the furniture, the shelves, the decor.

“It’s exactly like your…” Then his eyes fell on the unconscious form, sitting in the chair positioned opposite a vacant one, the vacant one being where a patient would normally sit.

“…study…” 

“It is,” I stated plainly.

I took the seat behind my desk while Will kept his eyes trained on the man.

He knew without it being asked of him and he took the seat he would normally occupy during one of our mutual psychoanalytical dances.

I aimed for his heart with my next words. “Tell me, Will. Do you miss your son?” 

He smarted at the mention of his family. A subtle and imperceptible response to anyone but myself.

“I don’t need to be reminded of what I have had to give up, Doctor. I also haven’t forgotten that while the Dragon almost ended my family’s life, it was you who delivered him to my door.”

“And yet again, my efforts were thwarted. Proof upon mounting proof of two destinies interlaced.”

“I admit,” he said, “such evidence is difficult to refute. Particularly in the light of our survival of the Dragon and the fall.”

I rose and walked back to stand next to the window, basking in the dawn's warmth. The glimmer of the Morning Star was no more but I gazed at the point in the sky I knew it to be and imagined I could feel its light on my face.

“One might wonder where one goes after slaughtering the Devil, Will. Arguably, having beaten down the gates of Hell, absorbed the Dragon’s fire only to breathe his own destruction upon Him, such a being might consider that he has earned that place and deserves to reside over the madness.”

“I have no such desire or designs.” 

“And that is what makes you so perfect, Will,” I replied, watching him as he sat upright in his chair. Still teetering between fight or flight it seems. “Desire is the downfall of Men, unless he recognises it for what it is and takes control of those desires before they seize control of him.”

I gave our still unconscious guest a cursory glance before returning my gaze to hold Will’s own. “Would you like to know what this gentleman’s desires are?”

His curiosity to better understand my mind would stay the flight instinct. For now at least. “I don’t know. Would I?”

“Ah. But forgive me. I am being unspeakably rude. First, I promised you an introduction.” I returned to my desk to retrieve the syringe and the vial. I located a vein easily, several protruding between the restraints that held him firmly but comfortably to his chair, and injected the stimulant into his bloodstream. I took position behind Will’s chair while our guest came to his senses.

“I had the pleasure of making this gentleman’s acquaintance at a psychiatry conference in Baltimore 5 years ago. We connected almost immediately which, as you can imagine, Will, made me instantly suspicious of him.”

“Yes. I can imagine, Doctor. Did you discover something… distasteful in your investigations?”

I nodded though Will could not see me. “Unspeakably so.”

Our guest was now reasonably alert and becoming acutely aware of his situation and the two men before him. I imagine the look in our eyes did little to allay his growing concerns for his immediate future.

“Allow me to introduce Doctor Mikhail Nikolai Goranski. He is a child psychiatrist of some repute. A well published and well established name in his field of expertise.”

“I sense that person you describe is the suit he wears while standing amongst his patients and his peers, Doctor. I’m guessing he is in possession of some less than redeeming qualities to discover himself sitting tied to a chair opposite you and I.”

Will Graham. One of the few beings in this world that can bring a genuine smile to my visage. “Indeed, you are correct, Will. Doctor Goranski’s desires are less than palatable. In short, he enjoys extracting the best from his young, trusting patients, penetrating their fragility until they believe he is the only thing in their lives holding them together. He sexually abuses them and when he tires of them, sends them to his version of God. He is careful, methodical, like any psychiatrist worthy of the title but I hope you agree with me Will, that such a being cannot be allowed to continue to practice.”

I had returned to the seat behind my desk and joined Will’s penetrating gaze at the not-so-good Doctor Goranski, who had since given up his futile struggle to escape his binds, his gag firmly in place to prevent unnecessary interruptions while I discussed his fate with Will. I studied Will’s expression and was gratified to see that he was giving the situation his complete contemplation.

“If it makes my proposal any easier, Will, perhaps you could consider Death as a cure in this instance. The release from our brief mortality is pure, complete and unparalleled in its complexity. But once returned to the source, home of its natural state, enlightenment is simple and absolute. Philosophers and pure sociopaths alike have understood this state of being since time immemorial. Ending life is just as satisfying as saving it, Will. In ending Mikhail’s life, as we did the Dragon, think of all the lives that can be saved. Including your own, by submitting to the truth, completely and without reservation.” 

I stood then, resting the splayed tips of my fingers on the desk before me. “Now. Can I interest you in some breakfast while you digest my proposal?”

The Dragon had set the fire within Will Graham, unleashed the hunger. Mikhail’s end would quench that fire and balance would be restored.


	8. Chapter 8

“This,” I said as I dished up our eggs, “reminds me of our first meal together.” 

Will sat and watched as I cooked. He was perhaps my favourite audience. “Sans flesh…,” he said, with a slight downturn of his lips.

“Ah yes. I never did apologise for that, did I?”

Will folded his arms, whilst permitting a look of mock surprise to grace his features. “Out of the many and varied atrocities you have committed against me, you consider feeding my unwitting body, parts of another body, the most offensive?”

It seemed we were moving past the surreality of our miraculous survival if Will had become comfortable commenting so casually on my past indiscretions taken at his expense.

“Of course,” I said, handing him an egg-laden plate and accompanying fork. “Had I come to an appreciation of the essence of Will Graham sooner and how it so perfectly complemented my own, I never would have taken such liberties. It is nothing short of rude.”

He shook his head, determinedly not looking at me while he forked a mouthful of his meal into his eager and welcoming mouth.

He swallowed before saying, “So I take it your plans for Dr Goranski are as well laid as ever they are in these situations?”

I put down my own fork and waited for him to look in my eyes before responding.

“On the contrary Will, I have no plans myself for the Doctor. He is a gift. From me to you.”

“A gift… from God…?”

I smiled. “Well, that is the meaning of his name, however you wish to look at it.”

“What if I wish to release him?”

“That decision, Will, is entirely yours to make.”

“And knowing you as well as I do, your other gift being for manipulation and persuasion, you don’t think I know with absolute certainty that right now you are manipulating me into doing exactly what you want?”

I patiently folded my hands together. “As I said Will, I have no plans for him so if I don’t know what I want, how can I possibly subconsciously influence you to do whatever it is you think I want you to do?”

He rubbed a hand up the good side of face, across his forehead and through dishevelled curls.

“Fine.” He rose from the stool and made for the door. He turned. “Aren’t you joining me?”

I had resumed my breakfast. “Unless you require my presence, he is all yours to deal with as you deem appropriate.”

He looked mildly surprised that I did not want to participate even as a spectator. I stood, stepped over to him and placed my hand on his shoulder, as a father would before imparting advice to his son. “I am not some idle voyeur, Will. I derive satisfaction from my own endeavours, which I consider intensely personal experiences. We shared one such experience by helping the Dragon to the next world out of necessity, not the desire to slaughter another, Will. That’s what made that night all the more beautiful. Absolute justice was served by your hand and mine. I have no doubt you will carve out designs of your own making that are equally as compelling.”

He was gazing skeptically at my mouth, as though I was saying one thing with my words, but he was hearing another meaning entirely. A possibility never to be ruled out, of course. 

I returned to my stool by the counter. “I have absolute faith that you will make a decision that is in the best interests of all parties concerned.” As I picked up my fork again, I gave him a warm, encouraging smile.“I will be right here should you need me.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

It was forty-five minutes later when Will returned to the kitchen, just as I had finished washing up our few plates and utensils.

“I don’t suppose you keep any… tools of your trade here, Doctor?”

I dried my hands on a dish towel. “Psychiatry?”

“Nnooo,” he said slowly, “Your other trade…”

“Trade is hardly the most appropriate word to assign my activities, Will. I like to think of it more as a _pro bono_ service to the world.” 

I reached down into a lower cupboard and pulled out the canvas roll containing an assortment of blades last employed here in my preparation of food. I handed it to him and held onto it as he reached out. I brushed my finger across the back of his palm, a friendly caress, encouraging and, which I hoped would convey my support for whatever decision he had made. I observed, careful to betray no emotional response on my part, as his pupils dilated in response to the touch. 

“I also need a candle.”

That request piqued my curiosity as to the nature of his plans but I retrieved the requested item from a cupboard without question and handed it to him. He turned without a word and left the room.

The first muffled screams drifted through the house. Not even the gag could suppress the agonised pleas emanating from the captive held in my study, who sounded as though he would shortly be set free from this mortal coil. 

It did not take long for the strangled sounds to subside. I was standing by the open back entrance to the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee, admiring the sprawling barrenness stretched out before me when Will returned to the kitchen. In his hand, he held a bloodied trophy, presently obscured from my sight as it was wrapped in a piece of plastic commandeered from the covering on the study floor. 

His eyes were dark. His expression was feral but his composure emanated complete control. The look certainly became him. He stepped close to me and said softly, “Would you mind putting this in your freezer? And the spare parts can go in the fridge for now.”

I took the item from him as he retreated to the kitchen sink to remove the blood from his hands and spatter and spittle from his face. 

“May I?” 

Will nodded. “Of course,” as he lathered up his palms and forearms while watching the swirl of bubbling blood spiral down the plughole.

I unwrapped the trophy and paused for a heartbeat. “A blood-rich muscle, Will, but it certainly wouldn’t have been my first choice of cut.”

He turned to me as he dried his hands. “This particular cut isn’t for consumption, Doctor. I found his tongue just as offensive while we talked but as I didn’t want to deprive him of the taste of his final meal, I removed the other, equally as offensive organ from his body. You did say he was mine to do with as I chose. This is my choice.”

“Of course, Will.” I began to suspect his plans and felt a slight thrill when he said, “It will take a couple of hours for the meat to freeze. It’s a little messy in your study but I’ve cauterised the wound so Doctor Goranski will not… be cured… until I’ve applied the final dose of his own medicine.”

His composure was breathtaking. “Is there somewhere I can lie down for a couple of hours?,” he asked.

I allowed his calm demeanour to reflect off me and back to him. The Wrath of the Lamb was being wielded in new and interesting ways and Will’s continued testing of my own senses were a joy to embrace. “There is a guest bedroom prepared. Top of the stairs and second door on the left,” I replied softly. 

He left the kitchen and I went to the freezer to stow the meat.

I waited a modest few minutes before heading to the study. While not a voyeur of the act itself, I harboured no misgivings about catching sight of the aftermath. I opened the door and took in the scene before me. Doctor Goranski had returned to his unconscious state, no doubt brought on by the pain-enduced blackout. He was naked, save his necktie which hung loosely undone around his neck. Sitting in the pool of congealing blood, their drying lines twined down the calves of his legs. Will’s cauterising of the bloody gash had been clumsy but effective, the wound standing out starkly against his pale skin, where once his genitalia had been. I took in the sight without pausing in my movements towards my desk. I opened the drawer to retrieve the tape recorder I had stowed there earlier, grabbing the set of headphones that lay beside it. I took one more look at the scene, committing it to memory, before silently closing the door behind me.

Returning to the kitchen, refreshing my coffee cup and retreating to the back porch, I sat and waited for the sun to arrive. In the meantime, and before the next phase of Will’s design, I had some listening in which to partake. I donned the headphones and pressed play on the recorder. I forwarded the recording until I heard an interlude of silence followed by the rustling of plastic and muffled pleas. I closed my eyes and conjured up the vision clearly in my mind. The sound of leather softly yielding to the supple body of Will Graham floated into my brain as I imagined him reclining in the seat opposite.

His voice, a tone with which I was not entirely familiar, sounded calm and measured as he spoke.

“Tell me about your sister, Doctor...”

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Please… Please… I’m begging you. Whatever Lecter told you, whatever he said, it’s—“

“Denial, Doctor? Disappointingly cliché. I expected more from one of your notriety. I asked you to tell me about your sister.”

“What the hell has my sister got to do with any of this? Look. I’m a Doctor of Psychiatry. Whatever Hannibal has led you to believe is a fabrication. Undoubtedly to fulfil some twisted ends of his own…”

“Don’t insult me by attempting to put into words what you believe to be the motives and intent of Hannibal Lecter, Doctor. I have seen and touched the very mind of the man.”

The leather beneath Will responded as he leaned forward. “And trust me when I tell you, you could never come close to understanding what it means to even catch a glimpse of the world through Hannibal Lecter’s eyes.”

“You fucking son of a whore…,” Goranski began, “Release me now or so help me, you’ll be hunted down and--”

“Stage 2…,” Will said. “Back to my request, Doctor. Your sister.”

“Dammit!” Silence.

His breath came ragged and shaky as he pleaded. “Look. I have money, connections. I can give you whatever you want, whatever you need…”

“Stage 3. I’ve had my fair share of dealings with the Devil, Doctor. I’m all settled up in that regard. Now. Are you going to comply or am I going to have to help you do so?”

Goranski heaved a frustrated and defeated sigh before answering. “She was a bitch, alright? She hurt me. Abused me. Psychologically and physically whenever she got the chance.”

“You were the younger of the two. Why would she do that?”

“Because our father was doing it to her and she thought it would be nice to pay it forward. Very giving in that way, my sister.”

Pause.

“You admired him. Even though you were fully aware of what he was doing to your sister…”

“Of course I did. He was my father. I idolised him. She was obviously manipulating him somehow and using his actions to justify hers toward me.”

“And so you, in turn, decided to pay it forward to your patients…” 

“I was teaching them the realities of their existence. There is no escape. No hope. Acceptance of the fears that life had in store for them was the best treatment I could give to prepare them.” 

“Life bestowed a great gift upon you, Doctor Goranski, and you saw fit to squander it.”

He snorted. As a pig would before facing the certain knowledge of its impending death. “And how do you conclude that?”

“You were given a brilliant mind. You overcame a destructive upbringing and conquered your demons, evident by the fact of your current situation in life. Yet as soon as you were placed in a position of power, you unleashed those demons on perceived reflections of your past. You took it upon yourself to do unto those innocents what had been done to you. You had lived the life and known the torture that came with it. You understood. You could have embraced your own fears and helped them overcome theirs.”

Pause.

“Instead, you weakened the already vulnerable and fed your darkened soul with whatever shards of self-identity they had left.”

An extended silence hung in the room, broken only by the occasional sound of shifting plastic beneath Goranski’s body and his ragged, breaking breath. Will gave him the space to process the choices he had made in life to bring him to this point before speaking again.

“It is difficult to see the truths behind our own existence, as well as the truths that sometimes hide in plain sight. That is why I am going to help you see your truths today, Doctor, as I have lately come to see mine.”  

“Just as I know I am not good, likewise, I do not believe you are evil, Doctor, despite the nature of your actions and the pain you have levelled on others in your care who trusted you with their best interests. In fact, I have come to accept there is no such thing as good and evil. These are mere constructs that help limited minds make sense of a senseless world. We have created an illusion of two paths, one of “Evil”, for those who indulge themselves in pleasure for pleasure’s sake, and one of “Good”, for those who deny pleasure believing their reward will be great in Heaven. There aren't two paths, there's only the one, and when we learn to accept that and live it, we won’t need to wait for some reward in Heaven. Instead, letting go of the conflict unites the perception of Good and Evil and creates Heaven on Earth.” 

Will rose for the first time during the exchange. “So today, Doctor, you and I are going to let go of our inner conflict and create our own Heaven on Earth.” The plastic rustled underfoot as Will made his way to the study door. “Excuse me for a moment. I’m going to get a glass of water and something for you too…”

He returned to the room some minutes later, canvas roll and candle in hand.

“What are you going to do?”

“I told you, Doctor. I’m going to help you release your inner conflict.”

The sound of expensive cloth being torn mingled with Goranski’s pleas filled the next few minutes. I listened while processing Will’s words. It would appear he had moved beyond empathy with the killer to seeing the fear and power reflected by the killer as he wielded both over his victims. Feeling the pain inflicted on the innocent through Mikhail defined what Will understood to be required of him. 

I continued to listen as Will asked Goranski a series of questions about his “conquests” that, judging by the changing timbre of his voice, was resulting in the Doctor experiencing a rising arousal. His naked response while talking of his victims made Will's design of his death all the more poetic. He had stripped him off his clothing and watched as the man grew painfully hard while telling Will of a particular patient who took little convincing to succumb. Will had then taken his opportunity to relieve the man of his erection and cauterised both penis and the gaping wound, as his agonised screams filled my ears.

I stopped the recorder and thoughtfully removed the earpieces. I pondered the conversation as I placed a new tape in the recorder before putting it back in the study desk. Will would shortly rise. I would be waiting for him.


	11. Chapter 11

It was some hours later when he rose. He had shaved off his week-old beard. Again, I am struck by how much younger he looks. I wonder if this is an intentional part in the completion of his task to relieve the Doctor's conscience.

“Are you rested, Will?,” I enquired, as he entered the kitchen and walked to the fridge.

“I didn’t sleep. More a respite to collect my thoughts.” He opened the fridge door and removed the “spare parts.” “I have a favour to ask of you, Doctor.”

“Of course, Will. I am here to assist you in anyway I can.” 

“Could you cook these for me? I’d like them to be palatable, but with a bitter taint as they slide down the throat.”

I quirked the corner of my lips. “I’m sure I can fulfil that request. And I always enjoy a culinary challenge.”

I set about preparing the tools required while Will poured himself a cup of coffee. “I never imagined taking life would come so easily to me.”

I pulled out a chopping board and knife to prepare the accompaniments to the dish. “On the contrary, Will. Taking life does not come easily to you at all. I see a man who has battled with his conscience his entire life, in an effort to conform to the design society deems it necessary we all comply for it to function. But society cannot function without form, and life must be accepted in all its forms for society to function at its optimum.”

I began grating the crumbs for coating the meat. “We are wrenched suddenly and quite unceremoniously from the warmth of our mothers, sent to school to learn how we fit into society, not how society fits us. Shaped to be career-hungry materialists forever lost in an economic jungle. You have merely finally accepted your true form and allowed it to function according to Nature’s own design.”

He watched me as I dipped the meat in a bowl of lightly-beaten egg and rolled it in the breadcrumbs. “I don’t know what is more frightening sometimes. The logic of your thought process or how readily I have come to understand it, Doctor Lecter.”

The skillet was reaching the optimum temperature when I dropped in the preparation. “The truth and its acceptance is the most frightening and fulfilling realisation to which we can come. We are raised to believe life is an eternal struggle. The only struggle is within ourselves. Once that struggle is recognised for what it is, order emerges from the chaos.”

Throughout our discussion I had been preparing what can be best described as a delicacy for our guest. I plated up and turned to Will. “Were you aware Will, that in Latin, the word testis means "witness"; in ancient Rome it was the custom for men to place one hand on a testicle when taking an oath in court. What oath will you take this evening I wonder?”

He opted for silence as I handed him the dish, looking suitably pleased with the result. “Skillet-fried testicles, or as they have been fondly dubbed by some in culinary circles, ‘Rocky Mountain Oysters.’

“You’re wasted in the field of psychiatry, Doctor.” 

I wiped my hands on a cloth. “Food for the body, food for the mind, Will. It is important to understand the benefits inherent in both and if one can employ skills that express both, so much the better.”

* * *

Will returned to the kitchen, bloodied up to the elbows, spots of blood peppered his face. He looked as serene as I recalled him on the Night of the Dragon. "I need a shower." 

"Yes you do,” I replied. “Let me show you."

I lead him upstairs to the ensuite in my bedroom and set the shower on a warm flow as he undressed. I ushered him under the soothing stream of water. 

I turned to vacate the room and leave him to his ablutions. “I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?" My empath certainly chose his moments to lay himself bare. “I am unaware of anything for which you require my forgiveness, Will.”

"For running. For resisting you. I think of all the people that could still be alive had I surrendered sooner."

Catharsis. It is good for the soul. "In that case, I too must apologise, at the very least for Beverly. Though I fear I cannot be completely sorry for protecting myself. She was an incredible woman and a great loss. I honoured her the only way I knew how.”

“I understand it was a survival response. But I’m not sure I can forgive you for that one, Doctor. I haven't yet been able to forgive myself. Though maybe I can be sorry enough for both of us..."

He hadn't taken his eyes off me during the exchange and I found his gaze somewhat wanton, not unlike the look he had shared with me at the top of the cliff before our headlong dive into the Atlantic.

And as I recognised then the desire within me flare, I wanted something more. "Now is not the time," I said, and he lowered his gaze acceptingly, as I closed the door to the bathroom and retreated downstairs. I wanted to keep this moment pure for Will. I did not want the surge of emotion he was experiencing that accompanied his kill to be married to bloodlust. That would be unsustainable for us both. Society may have assigned me an unfortunate label, but I was no animal, given to rutting at the first available opportunity, much as those who consider themselves the protectors of the world’s best interests would like me to be and be perceived as such. 

When I had told him I had no desire to enter into a physical relationship with him, I had been sincere in my admission. It was evident now however, that in that admission I had not been entirely honest with myself. My subconscious was betraying me. 

As I bore witness to the continued shaping of his epiphany, I knew that I wanted him. I wanted Will Graham in all his forms.


	12. Chapter 12

While I am not accustomed to cleaning up the mess of others, I was quite content to make an exception in this case for Will. It was his first lone kill after all, and I had observed the apparent exhaustion in his body and mind as he stood underneath the shower. He needed further rest and would not desire food. Taking life can be quite the appetite suppressant. After leaving him, I entered the study. I retrieved the tape recorder that had captured the final moments of Mikhail Goranski, former Doctor of Psychiatry, and then took the seat opposite his lifeless form to drink in Will’s handiwork. His head fallen backwards, laid bare the inner workings of his severed neck. Judging by the depth of the wound across his throat, the final blow had been wrecked with tortured passion. So like Will. 

The pool of blood was already congealing. I wondered if Will would consider it a violation if I salvaged some of the meat to honour his first kill. Likely not. He may even appreciate the gesture and I knew I was in possession of sufficient charm to portray it as such. I rose and fetched the canvas roll from the kitchen. Dragging the body from the chair, careful to keep it surrounded in the plastic that had been so carefully placed there by Chiyoh. I cut open his chest and with my well-honed surgical precision extracted his heart. I placed it in the fridge and then proceeded to prepare the body for disposal. I cut off his hands and head, removing any possibility of identifying his body.  Anonymity in death, recompense for all the identities he had stolen during his tenure as guardian of vulnerable minds. I took these parts to the garage where I kept a sealed bucket of acid. 

Returning to the study, I wrapped his remains in the plastic cover. I looked up through the window at the rising sliver of the moon. I had assigned a place to bury his body but it was late and I had no desire to fumble around in the dark. The completion of the task could wait until morning.

* * *

Showered and clad in pajama bottoms, I walked quietly to the guest room to check on Will. Pushing the door slightly further ajar, I watched for a few moments. He appeared to be in the REM phase of sleep, though not as unsettled as I imagined he had endured in the past. I retreated back to my own bedroom and climbed between welcoming covers. Perhaps I would join him, I thought, as I quickly slid into slumber…

* * *

His nostrils flared and a hot gust of vapour flooded the space between us. The unmistakeable scent of my empath invaded my senses, as I watched the silver-grey fawn shudder in anticipation. He was possibly the most beautiful creature I had ever imagined in the rare occasion of my dreams. He stamped a hoof impatiently on the red velvet carpet beneath us and reared his head before turning on his hindlegs and cantering off between the twisted trees, their trunks laden with all manner of deadly and beautiful flora. I remained still and felt the animal tremble around me. The silver-grey fawn had paused some metres ahead, gazing at me in open invitation. I gave chase then, my blackness giving me the appearance of a shadow slipping between the trees, but for my antlers reflecting the light cast from a blood-red moon. The sense of freedom pulsed exhilaratingly through my veins. Experience of the terrain meant I was faster and nimbler than the young fawn and caught him easily, coming abreast and leaning to the side, unbalancing him. The fawn - my empath - was quick to recover and we locked antlers, a preamble to our true intent. I gently but firmly pushed, watching the fire in the fawn’s eyes flare as he accepted the challenge. Then I did something no dominant would do, taking the young animal by surprise. I backed off and bowed my head, though keeping my eyes locked on my quarry. It was not supplication. It was acceptance and recognition as equals. The silver-grey beast took a few tentative steps forward, breath coming forcefully through his nostrils from exertion and wariness. He bent his head to meet the neck of my Wendigo and gently nuzzled and nipped the skin beneath my coal-black coat. Without hesitation, I returned the gesture in kind…

* * *

I woke with a jolt, momentarily confused as to what had roused me from my sleep. An intruder perhaps? Quite possible, given the house was rarely occupied. I rose from my bed and made my way to the guest room to check on Will again. I took in the sight with pre-prepared acceptance. His bed was empty. 

Fight or flight. Will didn't wish to fight me and couldn't fight himself. 

My Phoenix had flown. 


	13. Chapter 13

My inherent nature demands that I am utterly methodical in all I do. I had already planned to remove any evidence of Goranski and so relieve Will of any implication in his demise. It was also my intention to accept full responsibility for Frances Dolarhyde. Though forensic investigation would reveal two assailants, I was certain Jack Crawford would prefer to have Will on his side of the law rather than within the confines of the BSHCI. Himself being a man familiar with bending the rules, I was sure he could readily arrange a dismissal of any evidence implicating Will Graham.

I returned to my bed to await the dawn and once again, slipped on the earpieces that would permit me to revel in the next scene of Will’s théâtre de la mort. At least, I would have that final glimpse of his whole form before he had allowed himself to come undone once again.

* * *

 “Wake up, Doctor…”

Will gently slapped Goranski’s cheeks as he groaned at the pain he had successfully avoided up until now since passing out.

“Dinner is served,” Will said as he placed the dish on the table next to his chair while undoing one of the binds around his wrist. The rustle of warm plastic suggested he was more rapidly coming to his senses.

“Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!!” The expletives were strung out for a long minute as Will remained silent throughout and allowed Mikhail to vent his spleen. When nothing but his hoarse breath remained, Will spoke.

I imagined Will removing his glasses like some patient teacher before addressing a student. “I assure you, Doctor, he said calmly, fucking, is an extra-curricular activity that is currently so far down your list of available opportunities as to be off the page.”

The angry tirade resumed and again, Will permitted it to run its course.

“If you’re quite finished, by now, I’m sure you’ve worked up quite an appetite, Doctor. I hope you’ll find the dish to your liking.”

“Why the hell would I eat anything you offered me?”

“Because if you don’t, the manner of your death will be far from quick and painless. Hell will look like a spa day by comparison to the places my imagination can take you. And trust me in this at least. I have a VERY active imagination…”

The tears came then. Body-wracking sobs of hopelessness. “Please. Pleas—“

“Don’t let it go cold, Doctor. You’ll spoil your dessert.”

With his free hand, I heard Mikhail lift the fork and stab it into a piece of the meat.

“Rocky Mountain Oysters. A rare and indulgent delicacy much appreciated by refined palates.”

Goranski continued his sobbing through a mouthful of his own testicles. I marvelled at Will’s persuasiveness. It came close to surpassing my own.

After the third bite, Will relented. He stood as he said, “I’ll just go grab dessert. It’s in the freezer.” At the turn of the door handle, he paused. “I wanted to make sure you had something cool and soothing to ease your passage to Hell….”

I stopped the playback. No need to overdoes on both such delectable courses. I should save a little something for my post-burial indulgence.

* * *

I located a shovel in the garage and made my way to the bank of rosebushes that adorned the bottom of the back garden. I noted that they looked positively radiant with life. Karl had tended them very well. It was at that moment, I heard an engine approach. I knew it was too soon for the arrival of the FBI and I was in little doubt that Jack Crawford’s professional vanity would insist on being front and centre for the event of my re-capture. So it was with mild surprise when a truck pulled up alongside the house and Karl, my property’s caretaker, exited the vehicle. He waved as he leaned into the back of the truck to retrieve a shovel of his own. In hindsight, that should have flagged my suspicions, but a handyman in possession of a shovel was hardly an unusual occurrence. I pursed my lips in mild annoyance. How inconvenient, I thought to myself.

I planted the shovel and donned my “public suit” as he approached.

“Mr Montague!”

“Hello Karl,” I said, accompanied by my most charming smile. “How are you?”

“Oh fine and dandy, just fine and dandy. I know this is rather unexpected, but you come so rarely I really couldn’t miss the opportunity to catch up with you in person. Need a hand?,” he asked gesturing towards my first turn of the soil.

“I think I can manage, thank you. A little gardening is good for the soul. Was it with regards to something in particular that leads you to make a personal call?,” I asked, as I took hold of the shovel again and resumed my task.

“You hadn’t specified in your message how long you would be staying.”

I kept my voice carefully neutral and light to conceal my agitation. “I didn’t realise I was required to keep you informed of my movements, Karl?,” I said not looking up.

It was on the third penetration of the soil that my shovel came in contact with a foreign object, though when I turned over the clump of dirt to investigate the find, it did not look so foreign. At least to a surgeon.

Too late, I realised my error in judgement, as I felt what I could only conclude was the back of Karl’s own shovel come in contact with the back of my head. It was the last thing I remembered before my world spiralled into blackness.

 


	14. Chapter 14

I had given much consideration over the course of my life as to the nature of my own death. It would be unforgivably irrational of me not to do so, given how often I have indulged in the event itself. He had stood beside me many times, a trusted consort upon whom I had bestowed many gifts in appreciation of His companionship. He had returned the favour on several occasions. Twice I had looked down the barrel of Will Graham’s gun. Once, Will had sent a proxy to do the deed, and finally, he had undertaken it upon himself to rid the world of both of us. I was pondering now if, like Will, my consort had abandoned me.

Each of those scenarios of my almost death I found reasonably agreeable, if only for the one common thread being death at the hand of my soul’s counterpoint, Will Graham. Preferably, Florence would have been my choice of location, surrounded by poetry, art and beauty; such things that made the human condition more bearable. 

All things considered, I had never imagined this particular scenario.

The throbbing at the base of my skull was intense. I did my best to ignore it as I assessed my situation. 

My assailant - and former caretaker - had securely cable-tied my wrists and ankles. I was lying on my side and looked up to see Karl had gotten some way towards completing the task I had begun. Beside me, a few feet away, lay a bodybag, the top of which was splayed open to reveal the face of a young girl, eyes wide open, lifeless. I had been present at enough crime scenes to recognise in her expression the manner of her death, the gruesome end she met, courtesy of Karl Hopkins. I could chastise myself later for being so lax in my judgement about he who was about to attempt to rob me of my own life. The distraction of Will’s departure had obviously affected me more than I had permitted credit for. My compassion for the man was inconvenient to say the least.

“Karl.” He paused. “You do not have to do this.”

“Don’t speak. Do. Not. Speak,” he said through huffed breaths.

“I know you don’t want to do this. Otherwise I would already be dead.” Those words gave him pause again and this time he looked at me with haunted eyes.

“I understand more than you know. Allow me to help you.”

“No, Mr Montague. I don’t think you do. And I don’t need your help.” He dropped the shovel and walked back to his truck. He approached me without hesitation and applied a strip of duct tape across my mouth.

I remained calm. Panicking would achieve nothing and no doubt would panic Karl into doing something unpredictable. I could read enough of the situation to understand that he was not comfortable killing me. Though he did not appear to harbour the same misgivings about taking the lives of young, defenceless women. It was obvious he was clumsy and not at all methodical in these matters. I was confident I could escape my predicament. 

He rolled me into the body bag with the dead girl and zipped it up. Then, quite unceremoniously, proceeded to use his foot to roll me and my dead bag mate into the freshly dug grave. I noted as I dropped, it wasn’t too deep which would make my escape easier.

I felt the clay shower down. As long as it wasn’t packed tightly it would be relatively easy to dig myself out, once I extricated myself from the bag. I kept my breathing calm and even, my heart rate level. It was then I heard the shovel drop to the ground and a familiar voice that set a warm shiver down my spine.

“You are taking something that belongs to me.”

Will. Will has come back to me.

The garbled sound of a dying man. A crumpled heap dropping to the ground. Shifting soil. The zipper of the bodybag. And a sight that made my heart momentarily stutter. That the sight of Will Graham and not the possibility of death by suffocation would cause such a reaction is a rare occurrence in ordinary men. But then, I could hardly be classified as ordinary.

He reached down a hand to pull me out of my grave. My Phoenix had flown. And now he had returned.

"That’s the second time you’ve passed up the opportunity to make a break for it. I thought you would have gone. Any sensible fugitive would have run given the nature of our circumstances.”

I bestowed upon him my usual rapt attention as he reached to yank the tape from my mouth. “Is it still not clear to you, Will? We are in each other’s blood, bound to each other. I can no more run than you can.”  

"Why can't I just let you die?,” he sighed as he used the bloodied knife to cut the cable ties from around my limbs. 

I gave him a slight smile. “Perhaps because you appreciate the world is a far more interesting place with me in it?” 

We appraised each other for a moment, a moment I think in which we both realised that this was the way it had to be. “And you, Will. You didn’t summon Jack and the FBI. Why?” 

He then rolled the body of Karl Hopkins into the hole. “Maybe because I appreciate the company…”


	15. Chapter 15

_Will had returned._  

He took care of the study while I tended to the rose bed.

I felt a small pang of regret for the young woman sharing eternity with her murderer, but I allowed it to pass quickly as I piled Earth into the gaping grave’s hungry mouth.

The truck was stowed under cover in the small barn next to the house. I knew Karl lived a solitary life (part of the reason I had selected him) so would not be missed for some time.

_The Phoenix had flown but the silver-grey fawn had come back to me._

I showered and put on fresh clothing, retreating to the kitchen to prepare a light meal for us both.

Once Will had taken care of his own needs, he joined me there.

“Can I help at all?,” he asked, seating himself opposite at the counter.

_He was here._

I looked over my shoulder and gave him a genuine smile. “I think you’ve helped more than enough for one day, Will. Allow me to take care of you.” 

I placed a glass in front of him and poured some wine. “No meat on the menu this evening. I promise.”

“That’s very considerate of you, Doctor. I do feel as though I’ve had more than my fair share these past two days.”

I turned back to my preparations. “So Will. It would enlighten me greatly if you would share what compulsion drove you to return.”

He answered plainly. “Further musings on conversations of an intimate and revealing nature.”

“You intrigue me. Please. Continue?,” I said, not pausing the movement of my knife across the board.

“Your sister…” That comment did give my movements pause.

I turned towards him, my knife in hand. “My sister?”

He put his lips to the rim of his glass and sipped down the blood-red darkness before elaborating further. “The mirrors in my mind can reflect the best of others if I chose, Doctor.” 

He placed the glass down carefully, not taking his eyes from me. I remained silent.

“During my enlightening experience with Doctor Goranski, some things previously clouded by a scattered mind became apparent to me.”

He rose and walked around to face me, abandoning the protective barrier provided by the counter island. “Everything that you are, all that defines you, can find its origins in Mischa and your loss of her, ripped so cruelly from your heart. You have tried ever since to translate the horror of that defining moment in your life into art and beauty. Continue to honour that loss the best way you knew how.”

There it was again. That feeling of a rising pulse through my veins. His insights were on the verge of robbing me of the very air from my lungs.

“While the rationale behind your actions does not condone the actions themselves, I do understand. And when I pulled you out of the grave, I knew my conclusions were correct when I saw the look in your eyes. I saw the girl that lay beneath you. No doubt she reminded you of your sister, and the senseless loss of her life to the men - or pigs I suppose you would call them - you were powerless to protect her from. I caught the briefest glimpse of fear. The fear that perhaps it was your fate to die as senselessly as Mischa. It was something I had never seen and had not been prepared to ever see in you, Doctor. I have to admit it pleased me very much to be on its receiving end. I couldn’t help but feel a little vindicated in my decision.”

He returned to his seat and smiled, slightly smugly, I could not help but think. “It appears even the most defined amongst us are capable of change, however small and insignificant that change might appear.”

I turned my back to him and gave my attention to the food. I took a moment to steady my composure as I allowed his words to settle and twist in my gut. I refrained from comment lest I reveal my surprise at the clarity of his conclusions. It was as though he had stepped into my skin and framed into thought that which had eluded me. The revelation was as thrilling as it was disconcerting. I noted the raw desire and need to return the favour intensified. 

I opened the oven door and placed my simple but satisfying concoction in its warming environment and turned to my companion.

I returned his serene expression as I refilled my glass. I didn’t take my eyes from his, as I swirled the contents before allowing its warmth to slide delicately across my tongue, drinking in Will Graham as much as the contents of my glass. “Dinner will be ready in one hour. Shall we retire to the study until then?”

He headed out the door in front of me. We had shared minds. We had shared life. We had shared death. Maybe while we talked further, I would share the unspeakably rude but persistent fantasy of assisting in the release of all his pent up passions on my study desk in which I had occasionally indulged during my time at the BSHCI.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we approach the end of the tale. Penultimate chapter to follow shortly and then I must decide on a happy, or not so happy ending. I've really enjoyed exploring this dynamic, though its with humble reverence to Bryan Fuller and his team for their deadly and beautiful interpretations of Hannibal and Will. *Respectful Bow*.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter. Thanks to all who took the time to walk this twisted path.

Dinner would be unsalvageable. Not that I am especially concerned with such at this particular juncture of the evening.

Yet again, Will had surprised me. I could only surmise he knew the nature of what I had been contemplating, when he paused at the bottom of the stairs, as though calculating a decision and its possible ramifications. He diverted from our original route heading towards the study and after a few heartbeats, began ascending the steps. He did not pause or look back, I assume to allow me to come to my own conclusions without influence or interference.

By the time I had reached the bedroom, Will was half-naked, down to nothing but his jeans. It was a more than pleasant sight, particularly in such intimate circumstances. I stood just inside the door and waited for him to come to me. I had been honest with respect to my feelings. I had no reason to lie to him. But there could be no pressure applied from my part, just the willingness to comply to his own needs.

I accepted his gaze as invitation enough and approached him. He removed my sweater and proceeded to take hold of my wrists. Gently, he backed me against the wall and keeping hold of them loosely by my sides, pinned me against its cool surface. We held each other's gaze as he gently caressed the scars on my arms, as I welcomed the heat radiating from his own body, a sharp contrast to the cool of the wall behind me, as it slowly enveloped my own. I allowed him the control, knowing he needed it, knowing I needed to give him that much. 

"Are you going to try and kill me again, Doctor Lecter?"

"Quid pro quo? Truthfully Will, I have not determined that as yet."

"Let me help you reach your determination then," he said, keeping hold of my wrists and guiding me towards the bed. I put up a token resistance. I was after all, curious to see what would happen. "Will. I was sincere in what I said on the train. I have no desire to enter into a physical relationship with you."

"Of course you don't, Doctor. I believe at the time, your inference was genuine. But that was then," he stated matter-of-factly. "This, is now. Hannibal..." Before releasing my wrists to push me to the bed.

* * *

His fingertips felt like warm steel slicing me open from the back of my neck to the base of my spine as he traced them down my body. I recalled my first dream of him, the night Will Graham had invaded my slumber and my darkness, and welcomed the now reality of the intrusion. 

Three years is a long time to be without the touch of another. While I don't include it amongst my most enjoyable experiences, the physical release that accompanies it, keeps the body contented and non-intrusive on other more important activities of the mind. So to have my empath be the first after my incarceration was somewhat overwhelming. His seduction, as that is the word that best describes his endeavour, began by mapping my hands gently with his. Exploring the lines, veins and contours which, with the exception of my mind, I thought of as my most prized tools. Touching his fingertips to mine, before raising them to his own lips, he seemed to be imprinting them with my taste, trapped in the grooves of my fingerprints. The knife, that most intimate weapon of choice, is a mere extension of my body, allowing clean execution of whatever the task at hand. Will, it seemed, understood that the true weapons of destruction to be worshipped by his touch were equally willing to receive said attentions from his. 

His eyes were just as engaged in their exploration as we studied each other and our mutual responses. His gaze travelled up from my wrist, pausing at the wounds inflicted by Matthew Brown, wounds which I had come to accept as the gift of knowledge that he could reach me, should he wish, wherever I chose to be and no matter where he was. I was slowly coming to the realisation that perhaps not even time could separate us, and space was a mere formality. He trailed his palm across my shoulder, grazed his fingertips along my collarbone and up the side of my neck, bringing them to rest on my jawline. His eyes trained on this spot for a few moments as though he was steeling himself before meeting mine. While we had shared what I considered various intimate interactions normal between friends, this was certainly a departure from what could be defined as normal. He leaned forward while looking at my lips and at the last moment, just before his met mine, he raised his eyes to gaze into my own. 

“I have recently found myself wondering about the taste of your palate, a palate that had sampled countless lives. I suppose I can lay that curiosity to rest now.”

For the second time in my life, I found myself surrendering unequivocally to Will Graham.

I climaxed embarrassingly quickly under his attentions, surprising us both with the strength and voracity of my response.

"Will..." His name fell from my lips, spoken with a reverence that saints surely reserved for their Gods. 

* * *

“What are we doing?”

I propped myself up on my elbow to look down at him with an expression of mock seriousness. “If you are asking for my professional opinion, I would suggest we are experiencing physical catharsis. Personally, I am basking in the aftermath of a post-coital haze.”

He laughed quietly at that as he turned his head to look at me before adopting a mock expression of his own.

“Really. And how long have you been tortured by this fantasy, Doctor?”

“I believe it manifested shortly after you and I resumed our sessions post your own sojourn at the BSHCI, which thinking about it, I must apolog--" His lips were on mine again before I could finish.

"Will. It is extremely rude to interru--"

Again, his lips found mine. I relented to the gesture before pushing him over and onto his back.

“I have dreamed of you.” The shared intimacy had apparently loosened my mind and my tongue.

“Of this?,” he asked.

“No. I dreamt of complete, unequivocal freedom. I dreamt the veil fell away and you saw me and accepted me for all that I am.”

“I believe I had a similar dream, though my dreams are a little difficult for me to recall in any clarity. I do remember dreaming my life was my own again. I was no longer shackled to the darkness, hiding from the light of others. Because of you. Hannibal.”

I ran my fingers down the side of his body and up his back before pulling him close again. “Our souls are the most visible parts of us, though only to those with eyes that see.”

His eyes were closed, evidently relishing the feeling of skin-on-skin. Warm, moist, alive. “And when did you see mine?” 

“At the very moment I met you. Never before or since had I bore witness to anything so pure and so beautiful in another human being.”

He grabbed my hand then and brought my fingers to his lips.

“Say that again.”

I moved my hand from his lips to reach around the back of his neck and pulled him closer still. “Beautiful, Will. Your soul. It's beautiful.” 

He spoke softly against my lips. “Freud would have a field day with you and I.”

“I’d prefer I were the only psychiatrist permitted the honour of roaming round your mind, Will. I do feel quite at home there.”

“And when Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham aren't taking up residency in each other's headspace, where do they call home?”

 “I’ve been giving that some thought.  And if you’ll indulge me, after I indulge you in just a moment, I have a proposal for you, Mr Graham…”


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end...

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

I woke up alone shrouded in the light of a crisp, clear dawn. Winter in Anykščiai was as beautiful and unsullied as I remembered from my childhood.

I pulled on a robe and headed downstairs, lured by the smell of fresh coffee wafting through the air. 

“Will.” 

“Good morning, Hannibal. Did you sleep well?”

“Very, thank you.” I stepped up behind him and placed my hands around his waist. A possessive gesture that he seemed to appreciate nonetheless.

“And you?”, I enquired, my lips against his neck as I breathed in his aroma, a unique blend of his and my own.

“My sleep reflects the mood of this place. Peaceful and serene.”

“I am glad to hear that.” I walked to the coffee pot and poured myself a cup. I sipped. Will’s mastery of finer blends was improving by the day.

“There is something on your mind, Will?”

“Isn’t there always?”

“Indeed. You would not be you were there not.”

“Just lending some thought to the future.”

“A futile exercise. Lending thought to things that have not yet occurred. Controlling the moment in which we now reside is the only way to guarantee knowledge of the future.”

“And you are always prepared for any and all eventualities, aren’t you, Hannibal?”

“As much as is within my power yes. Though I do expect the Universe to keep me on my toes. Complacency is not in my vocabulary.”

“How long do you think we have before the Universe turns her attention to us?”

“When she does, I’m sure we’ll be the first to know…”

* * *

_FAO of Jack Crawford,_

_Agent-in-Charge of the Behavorial Science Unit,_

_Federal Bureau of Investigation,_

_Quantico, Virginia._

 

Jack.

If you are reading this, I am already dead.

The how or why is of no consequence. What is, is the fact that Hannibal is alive and now he is alone.

I know you have been looking for us. Only a fool would think Hannibal Lecter no more without proof of death and fool you are not. Despite my best efforts to remove both him and myself from the equation of life, life it seemed had other plans for us. I chose to accept fate and it is with some easing of my conscience I can say that the intertwining of my own with Hannibal’s has protected that of many others.

Now, with my passing however, the fate of those who may fall into Hannibal’s path will not be so assured. Herein, I am providing you his present location so you can take him back into your charge.

I know I will rest easier in death always knowing where he is.

Will.

* * *

“Good morning. Dr Lecter, my name is Clarice Starling. May I speak with you?”

 

**END**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “He woke her then, and trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand. Weeping, I saw him then depart from me. Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her? Find nourishment in the very sight of her? I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?”
> 
>  
> 
> ― Dante Alighieri


End file.
